Chapter 22: Monday: A Typical School Day, Second Class

On the school yard, Omari leaned against the cracked wall of the institution building, frowning as he glared at Matumbo. “You told me to bring Snowflake here and stay for the whole day,” he complained. “A lot of fun, you said. But am I supposed to sit through advanced grammar and composition for three hours? I don’t even understand half of what she’s talking about.”

Matumbo leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, looking slightly amused. “Yeah, I know. But Principal Tuwme stopped by before you guys arrived—since you were late, by the way—and told me not to interfere with her classs. All week, it’s English only.”

Omari scowled. “Tuwme isn’t even here! I went by his office to give him the teacher’s invitation note that Snowflake wrote, and he wasn’t there. The sign said he’ll be back at noon.”

Matumbo scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, is that so? Hmm...”

A sly smile spread across his face as an idea began to form. “Ya know,” he said slowly, “Snowflake still needs to be punished for being late. You guys were like 15 minutes late, weren’t you? So by Tuwme’s rule, that’s one whopping for every minute. Fifteen minutes late means she gets fifteen whopping, right?”

Omari’s expression shifted as the wheels began turning in his head. He grinned. “That’s right! One whopping per minute. That’s Tuwme’s rule.”

Matumbo nodded, his eyes gleaming with a plan. “Exactly. We can’t just let her off the hook. We’ll need remind her. She needs to learn not to be late to school. I mean on behalf of Principle Tuwme. I’m sure that’s what he wants us to do for our teacher, right?”

The bell rang, cutting through the air with a shrill note, signaling the start of the next class. Matumbo stood up, cracking his knuckles with a sense of purpose. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back in there. I’ve got a plan.”

Omari followed Matumbo into the building, excitement bubbling beneath his surface as they prepared to re-enter the classroom. In his mind, the prospect of fun wasn’t gone—it was just delayed. And Snowflake would pay for her tardiness, exactly as Tuwme’s rules demanded.

As the students began to filter back into the classroom, Sylvia heard the shuffle of their shoes and the soft murmurs of conversation. She wiped her tears quickly, straightening up in her chair behind the supervisor’s desk. The leather strap between her legs tugged uncomfortably, a constant reminder of her humiliating predicament. Her breasts, swollen and balloon-like from the tight collar and clothespins, ached with every breath, but she forced herself to stand up.

She could feel the weight of every gaze on her. Her body, practically naked except for the obscene bondage gear, was on full display for them. Her shaven vulva, now smooth and still glistening faintly from the oil, felt exposed in the cruelest way. Her skin flushed with a combination of heat and shame as she made her way to the front center of the classroom, large old blackboard behind her, where the lecturer’s table stood. Each step felt like a battle against her humiliation, her breasts swaying painfully with every movement.

Her hands trembled as she reached for her book. Sylvia could barely focus on the words, her mind clouded with shame. The room seemed to hum with the low, mocking laughter of the students. She felt their eyes crawling over her body, their grins twisting with lewd anticipation. She glanced briefly at the front row where Matumbo, Omari, and their gang sat, their faces lit with barely contained glee.

As Sylvia opened her book and attempted to start the class, her voice cracked, soft and hesitant. “Al-alright ... let’s ... let’s continue with our lesson. We’ll be focusing on advanced composition...”

But before she could complete her sentence, Matumbo’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Hold on there, Teacha.”

Sylvia froze, her heart pounding.

Matumbo leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You were late today. By my count, about fifteen minutes late, actually.”

Sylvia felt her blood turn cold. She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “B-but ... but I—”

“You know the school rules, of course, ya do, ya-a the teacha” Matumbo continued, standing up and taking a few steps toward her. “One whopping for every minute. That’s fifteen whopping for being late.”

Sylvia’s breath quickened, panic clawing at her throat. She shook her head weakly, trying to protest. “Th-that’s ... that’s not fair! You know ... you know I came with Omari...”

Matumbo raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Doesn’t matter. You were late. Why were ya late, anyway, Teacha? Got a good excuse for it?”

Sylvia’s heart raced as her mind scrambled for an excuse. She stuttered, trying to explain, her words coming out in a garbled mess. “I-I ... we had to ... the clothing ... you ... you made me ... I had to wear the ... the clothes, and then we had to stop...”

The students chuckled as Sylvia fumbled with her explanation, clearly struggling to put together a coherent defense. Her voice was shaking, her humiliation deepening with every passing second. Matumbo crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying her flustered state.

Sylvia’s hands instinctively moved to cover herself, though the damage had already been done. She stood in front of the room, a white woman of alabaster skin, almost naked, with nothing but degrading bondage gear and the remnants of her dignity. The shaven pubic area was visible to all, and the more she tried to explain, the worse she felt—trapped in this unending nightmare of shame.

Matumbo pressed forward, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cruelty. “Having to stop for what, Teacha?” His voice was taunting, predatory. Sylvia felt her heart pounding in her chest, dread creeping over her like a cold shadow.

She hesitated, trembling under the weight of the moment. Matumbo leaned in closer, his grin widening as if savoring her discomfort. “You mean the three lines that I wrote for you?”

Sylvia’s throat tightened, her mind spinning with panic. Those humiliating phrases he had forced her to learn, twisted justifications for why she wasn’t “technically” naked, despite being exposed in the most degrading way possible. Her voice faltered as she attempted to respond, her words barely above a whisper.

Matumbo ordered her, with mean look on his face. “Say those lines, out-loud so everyone can hear, Snowflake.”

Sylvia flinched at his command and stammered. “Y-you ... you can’t ... y-you can’t see my ... my nipples...”

The room burst into laughter. The students were watching her with eager anticipation, eyes gleaming with malicious excitement. Sylvia’s body felt as if it were on fire, the humiliation scorching through her. She bit her lip, praying this would end soon, but Matumbo wasn’t satisfied.

“Again!” Matumbo commanded, his tone sharp and demanding. “Louder!”

Tears welled in Sylvia’s eyes, but she obeyed. “Y-you can’t ... see ... my nipples,” she repeated, louder this time, her voice shaking as she fought to hold back sobs.

Matumbo smirked and continued. “Now, show us. Prove it. Show us why you’re not naked.”

Sylvia stood, hesitating, her body quivering with tension as she prepared herself for the unthinkable. The weight of humiliation crushed down on her, but she had no choice. The classroom was stifling; sweat trickled down her back, her alabaster skin flushed with a deep, mortified crimson. Her breasts, swollen and bulging due to the cruel puppy collar tightly constricting their base, jutted out unnaturally, their pinkish hue more pronounced as the blood was restricted by the collar. The clothespins on her nipples pinched painfully, amplifying the unbearable discomfort. Her sensual, voluptuous figure seemed even more exaggerated by the way she was forced to present herself.

Trembling, Sylvia raised her hands to her bound breasts. The skin was taut and sensitive beneath her shaking fingers, and her whole body shuddered as she obeyed Matumbo’s sick command. She squeezed the swollen mounds, lifting them slightly as the students laughed, their mocking voices ringing in her ears.

Her lips trembled as she forced out the words. “Y-you ... you c-can’t see ... m-my nipples...”

The students roared in laughter at her pitiful display. Her breasts swayed gently in her hands, the clothespins biting cruelly into her tender flesh, but Sylvia knew she couldn’t stop. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red as she shook her breasts to demonstrate the absurdity of the lie she was forced to tell. The sensation of the pins tugging painfully at her nipples sent unwanted shocks of sensation through her body, making the shame all the worse.

Matumbo leaned back in his chair, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “That’s right, Snowflake. Now, the next one. You know what comes next.”

Sylvia felt her knees wobble beneath her as she turned around, her back now facing the students. She could feel their eyes on her, staring at the full, rounded curves of her bare, pale buttocks. The thin leather strap that cut cruelly between her swollen vulva disappeared into the deep cleft between her buttocks, drawing even more attention to her exposed state. With a deep breath and her heart pounding in her chest, Sylvia reached back with her trembling hands. Slowly, she grasped her plump, round buttocks, feeling the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath her fingers.

With every fiber of her being protesting, she pulled her cheeks apart, exposing her tight, puckered anus to the room. The room erupted with laughter, harsh and mocking, the sound almost deafening to Sylvia as her tears streamed down her face. Her hands shook violently as she held the degrading pose, feeling every eye in the room locked on the most intimate, humiliating part of her body.

“Y-you ... y-you c-can’t ... s-see ... my asshole...” she stammered through sobs, her voice cracking and breaking.

The laughter grew louder, crueler. The students leaned forward in their seats, grinning and chuckling, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as they watched her degradation. Sylvia’s heart felt like it was being torn from her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for it all to be over, but Matumbo’s voice cut through her misery like a knife.

“And the last one, Teacha,” Matumbo’s voice was slow and deliberate, savoring her suffering. “You know what to do.”

Sylvia felt her entire body stiffen with dread. She could barely move, but her body obeyed on autopilot, her mind too numb with shame to fight back. She slowly brought her hands around to the front of her body, and with a fresh wave of tears blurring her vision, she reached down to her freshly shaved vulva. The leather strap dug into her sensitive, smooth flesh as she nervously gripped the edges of her labia.

With great reluctance and utter humiliation, Sylvia pulled her vulva apart, exposing the soft, pink folds beneath. Her labia felt tender and raw after the recent shaving, and she could feel the cool air of the room prickling against her exposed flesh. The room exploded in another wave of laughter, louder and more mocking than before, and Sylvia’s entire body shook with shame. Her legs trembled, her hands shaking as they struggled to maintain their grip.

“You ... you c-can’t see ... my clit...” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the students’ laughter.

The sight was unbearable. There she stood, spread open like an offering, her smooth and vulnerable vulva on full display to the room full of jeering men. Her pale, voluptuous body glistened with sweat from both fear and the effort of holding such degrading positions. Her exposed skin burned with shame, her entire being mortified at the depths of her degradation. She could feel her body trembling, every inch of her longing to collapse and disappear from this hellish moment.

When Matumbo finally spoke, Sylvia nearly collapsed with relief.

“Alright, Snowflake. You can stop.”

Her hands immediately fell to her sides as she straightened up, tears still streaming down her face. She stood there for a moment, shaking and breathing heavily, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Her face was flushed, her lips trembling with the sobs she was holding back. The laughter of the students still echoed in her ears as she tried to compose herself, but all she could feel was the burning shame of what she had just been forced to do.

Her body felt hot and sticky, the sweat pooling between her breasts and running down her back. The tight collar around her breasts still pinched cruelly, the swollen mounds aching with discomfort. She could feel the sweat trickling down her bare inner thighs, mingling with the oil she had applied earlier for the shaving. Her freshly exposed skin felt raw, hypersensitive to the air and the stares of the men around her. Every breath she took was a reminder of how utterly powerless she was, trapped in this nightmare with no escape.

Now, Sylvia stood there, tears quietly rolling down her cheeks, her face flushed with shame and embarrassment. Her heart pounded in her chest as Matumbo continued to mock her, feigning shock.

“Wow, Teacha! You actually did that? Right in the middle of the market, at this time of day? When it’s crowded with families, kids running around ... I meant it as a joke!” Matumbo exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. The room filled with roaring laughter from the other students.

Sylvia felt like her insides were collapsing. She could barely stand to be here, let alone be the target of this cruelty. Her body trembled with the effort to hold herself upright as the mocking laughter echoed around the room. Each laugh pierced through her like a blade, twisting deeper and deeper into her core. She was already humiliated beyond belief, and yet, here she was, the sole object of their sadistic amusement.

“I guess she really wanted to do it, huh?” Matumbo said with a laugh, nudging one of the other students. “Who else would strip down and give everyone a show in the middle of the market? That’s dedication, Snowflake, real dedication to the exhibitionism you like so much!”

More laughter erupted from the students, their voices a mixture of cruel mockery and jeering taunts. Sylvia stood frozen, her face burning hotter with every second. She felt like the whole world was spinning beneath her feet, her body stiff with tension and shame. She desperately wanted to curl into a ball, to disappear, but instead, she stood there in front of them, exposed and humiliated.

Matumbo’s tone turned more serious, but his smirk didn’t disappear. “But that’s not a good enough excuse, Teacha. You still need to be punished for being late.”

Sylvia’s heart sank. She had done everything they asked, endured the degradation, and still, it wasn’t enough. The tears came faster now, her sobs stifled and quiet, but the fear was there, clear in her eyes. She dreaded what punishment Matumbo had in mind. The terror of it consumed her thoughts, each second ticking by as she hoped, desperately, that it wouldn’t be too painful—that somehow, just this once, she wouldn’t suffer as much.

But in her heart, Sylvia knew that hope was fleeting.

Matumbo rose from his seat, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he approached Sylvia. Sylvia, trembling in dread, could only watch as he stood before her.

“Bend down,” Matumbo ordered.

Sylvia’s body stiffened, but she had no choice. Slowly, she bent at the waist, lowering herself until her fingers brushed her ankles. Her large breasts, still swollen and pinkish from the constricting dog collar at their base and the clothespins pinching her nipples, hung heavily beneath her. She let out a small, muffled sob as Matumbo moved behind her, looping a rope around her left wrist and ankle. He tied a knot, pulling her left hand tightly to her left ankle before doing the same on the right side.

Now, Sylvia was forced to stand there, bent over at the waist, her body locked into this humiliating position. Her buttocks were raised high, her knees trembling, her thighs slightly apart, which only worsened her exposure. The leather strap from her bondage gear disappeared between her soft, rounded buttocks, pressing deeply into her skin. As she shifted nervously, the strap pulled even tighter against her delicate flesh, disappearing into the folds of her vulva, cutting between her swollen labia. Her exposed buttocks were slightly spread apart in this position, revealing the dark, glistening slit of her vulva beneath the strap, framed by the pale flesh of her inner thighs.

Her position caused the strap to press further into her most sensitive areas, exposing her clitoris as it peeked out from where the strap cut into her vulva. She felt every humiliating sensation—the tug of the strap, the cool air brushing against her exposed skin, the heat of shame burning through her cheeks. Her breasts swayed heavily, bound at their base, creating a balloon-like appearance, the skin taut and flushed from the pressure.

“Now, Snowflake, walk outside to the hallway,” Matumbo commanded with a cruel smile.

Sylvia hesitated. Her mind rebelled at the thought of stepping out like this, completely exposed and restrained in such an obscene manner. The thought of the hallway—Principle Tuwme or Abuba, passing by, seeing her like this—was too mortifying to bear.

But Matumbo was having none of it. He walked up behind her and delivered a light, but firm, tap on her vulva with a rubber rod. Sylvia gasped in shock, her body jerking as she felt the impact. In this position, with her body bent and her legs spread, her vulva was fully exposed, vulnerable, and the leather strap made every touch even more humiliating.

She whimpered softly but knew there was no escape. Slowly, painfully, Sylvia began to shuffle forward, each step awkward and difficult. Her wrists tied to her ankles forced her into a lurching, stumbling gait. Her buttocks remained high in the air, bouncing slightly with every step, the leather strap cutting into her more deeply as she walked. Her breasts swayed and bounced beneath her with each movement, the clothespins digging into her nipples, sending sharp, painful sensations through her chest.

The 16 students watched intently as their beautiful teacher made her way toward the door. Omari’s eyes followed her every step, his face a mixture of fascination and amusement. Sylvia could feel their gazes on her, burning into her exposed flesh as she took small, shuffling steps out of the class room and into the hallway. Her breathing was shallow, each breath coming quicker as she fought against the shame that was threatening to overwhelm her.

As she walked, the sound of the leather strap brushing against her wet skin filled her ears, a constant reminder of her humiliating exposure. Her shaven vulva, now fully visible between her spread legs, glistened in the hallway’s dim light as she passed through the doorway, her body still trembling with fear and shame. The students followed her closely, chuckling among themselves, enjoying the spectacle of her humiliation.

Her body, now covered in a light sheen of sweat, glistened in the hallway’s dull light. She could hear them behind her, their crude remarks and snickering laughter filling her with dread. But Sylvia kept moving forward, step by agonizing step, knowing there was no escape from this torment.

Matumbo stood, grinning down at the white woman as she remained bent over, wrists tied to her ankles, her vulnerable body fully exposed. “You earned 15 whopping,” he said, his voice dripping with mock authority. “One spanking per minute, as per the institution’s rule. But I’ll give you a chance, Teacha. If you can make it to Principal Tuwme’s office and he comes out, no more whoppings. In fact, I doubt he’d approve of me spanking you, so he might stop this even if I wanted to continue.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate drum of fear and humiliation. They were standing at one end of the corridor, in front of her classroom. The hallway stretched out before her like a gauntlet, with four classrooms on one side and the principal’s office just around the corner at the far end. It was a seemingly endless distance given her predicament.

“Now, ready? If I were you, I’d run as fast as I can,” Matumbo sneered, raising the rod high.

Before Sylvia could even process his words, the rod came down with a swift, cruel swish. The underhanded swing landed directly on her exposed, hairless vulva mounds, sending a searing pain through her body. The shock of it almost made her collapse, her legs trembling violently as she struggled to stay bent over, not to fall.

But the pain was a brutal reminder of what awaited her if she didn’t move. Desperate and humiliated beyond belief, Sylvia forced herself into action. Her bound hands and ankles made her movements awkward and slow, but she had no choice. Each small step was a struggle, her body bent forward, her breasts swinging heavily with each painful jolt. The tight leather strap between her buttocks and vulva cut into her flesh, every slight movement a new wave of discomfort.

Her once beautiful alabaster skin, now glistening with sweat, flushed with both shame and physical strain. Her round, upturned buttocks, spread slightly due to the position, revealed the leather strap cutting deep into her sensitive flesh, emphasizing her complete exposure. The students followed behind, jeering and cheering, their voices echoing down the corridor, a cruel chorus to her suffering.